Zer-Author's Disorganized Bookshelf
by Zer Author
Summary: Just random things I started collecting on Spacebattles; figured I might as well share them here.
1. A New Faction (Worm Altpower)

The attack had come without warning.

Taylor hadn't noticed, had not idea she was being followed until the crossbow bolt had leapt from the shadows. She had been too busy enjoying the first good day she had had in a long, long time (ever since mom-). She had finally gotten one over on the trio, had finally forced to actually do something. Maybe it wouldn't fix everything, but Principle Blackwell had to do something (or get her whole rotten school shut down). Maybe, if she was lucky, she'd even get fast tracked to Arcadia…

Then she felt a sharp pain in her shoulder, like a hard punch to the arm, and went down with a shout. It took her a long moment, too long, to realize that the black plastic shaft sticking out of her arm was an arrow, like from a bow, and it was sticking out of her arm-! On instinct, she grabbed it, and shrieked when she jostled the wound by mistake, her vision greying out at the edges.

The thought of getting up, going for help, had just managed to cross her thoughts when she heard the rustle of cloth in the wind, and caught two boots in the back.

Hitting the ground snapped the shaft clean off, and Taylor howled in agony until a firm kick to the gut cut her off. More blows followed quickly, fists and knees and hard boots battering at her as she struggled to roll away, find her feet.

She tried to fight back, using the tricks her father's friends had taught her (elbow's in, thumb outside fist, punch through the target) but the cloaked stranger was too fast, too strong. Every time she tried to stand, she was knocked down. Every time she tried to hit back, she was just hit *harder*. In the end, she was left lying on her back in a pained haze, watching her attacker glare down at her with contempt in their gaze (just like at school).

It took her a few moments to realize that the stern, ferocious visage that glared down at her was a mask, a familiar mask; just as familiar as the costume, with the flaring cloak and the sleek leather and the crossbow hanging at one hip.

Then Shadow Stalker lunged for her again, and she was left to curl into a ball to whether the assault. "Should have kept your stupid mouth shut, Hebert!" the ward shouted as she rained down blows on Taylor's back. "Should have just taken it, like a good like bitch! But no, you had to kick up a fuss! Had to snitch!"

"But don't worry," she growled with a final kick. "Once you're gone, Hebert, this whole problem all goes away." Taylor looked up at the muffled clack, and found herself staring down the tip of a second bolt, pointed unwaveringly at her face. "Should have kept your mouth shut," Shadow Stalker said again, and Taylor saw her death in the girl's unwavering gaze.

But why?

—

The attack came without warning.

Sophia had probably (definitely) been enjoying this too much. Hebert deserved it, of course, but she knew better than to drag out her fun. She wasn't some cartoon moron, getting caught because she couldn't stop playing with her food.

But she was so *angry*. Angry at Hebert, for causing trouble; at the school, for being full of stupid weaklings who wouldn't do their job; at the Protectorate, for always getting in her way! And here was a stupid little victim that nobody cared about, that nobody would miss, and it felt so good to vent. To do what she was meant to do, beating down the pathetic parasites who deserved what they got.

But she wasn't going to let herself get caught, not this time. This time, she had planned things out; by the time she was done here, nobody would bother looking for Hebert, and she already had a place to hide the body. This time, she was going to *win*.

"Should have kept your mouth shut," she told the wimp as she tightened her finger on the trigger.

The first staff strike caught her across the shoulder, hard and fast but too off center to really hurt her; the surge of electricity that followed, though, was a different story, and she shrieked in agony as her body arched. Her thoughts were scrambled, her eyes streaming with tears, which kept her from seeing the second blow until it caught her hard in the stomach, jackknifing her hard despite the accompanying current.

She collapsed, gasping through gritted teeth and blurry eyes as she watched her indistinct attackers step past her, and over to the wimp. There was something wrong about them both, something off with their shapes; they were too low, too squat, and were those coats hanging from their hips, or tails…?

She fought to clear her vision, to stand up, to aim her weapon, to do *anything* but her body was shaking too hard. She couldn't move, could only grunt and groan as she watched one misshapen shadow bend low to gather wimpy Hebert into it's arms. The other spotted her attention, and with a low growl stalked towards. It's weapon was like a huge, blunt-tipped spear, and she felt her heart sink when red energy crackled menacingly around the tip.

The last thing she saw, before the final blow sent her into blackness, was the glitter and gleam of gold upon the creature's brow.

—

The call came without warning.

"I think the Protectorate is trying to kill me," Taylor gasped, and not even the poor connection could hide her fear and stress.

He didn't even remember shooting to his feet; one moment he was hunched over in his rickety chair, his bent beneath the weight of a failing Union in a failing city. The next, he was on his feet, one hand still stinging from where he slammed it onto his desk. The rest of the office was staring at him, and he realized that his startled exclamation had not stayed inside his own thoughts.

The union had been unable to afford wireless phones for the office, so he couldn't simply find somewhere more private, but there was a small nook between the wall and a handy cabinet that he used for bad news he wasn't ready to share with everybody else. Taylor's breathing was harsh in his ears, but she didn't say anything until he managed to splutter, "What? Are you sure?"

"I didn't imagine Shadow Stalker attacking me, or sticking a giant crossbow into my face," his daughter retorted, and he winced at the edge of acidic anger that glistened wetly beneath the fear. When they had worked together to bring the suite against Blackwell and Winslow Highschool, the most common claim had been that she was a liar, or imaging things.

"I know, I'm sorry," he said, and he meant it. "But the Protectorate- how, why would they even…?" He tended to have a poor opinion of government in general, always had, and Mayor Christners insistence on subjecting Brockton Bay to a slow death, instead of trying to fix things, no matter the cost, had done nothing to change his feelings. Still, government or not the Protectorate were heroes, in every meaning of the word; imagining that they could do something as wicked as murdering a child strained credulity .

He believed Taylor, though; he had to. "Taylor, listen," he said, his voice low and focused. He tried to be a lawful man, but he had been forced to pull a friend out of a legal pickle a few times before. "Did they say anything to you, give you any sort of reason about why they were attacking you? Carrying a weapon, resisting arrest, anything like that?"

She sniffled, the sound, painfully clear despite the crackle of static. "Nothing like that," she said. "Shadow Stalker just kept saying that I should have kept my mouth shut. She was really angry about it, too."

His heart sank. If Brockton Bay's newest Ward had been shouting justifications, it might have meant a mistake, some form of incompetence; something, in short, which he could have settled with a quick call to a lawyer, and a cautious visit to the Chief of Police to get the offending officer dealt with. If Shadow Stalker had wanted his daughter silenced, though, that could mean only one thing.

Corruption.

Something was dirty in the Brockton Bay Wards, and he'd eat his chair if it didn't involve the Protectorate too. In a city like this, corruption always reached all the way to the top.

Which meant that he couldn't trust a single officer in the entire city. Not the Protectorate, not the PRT, and certainly not the police; they might have been supposed to be a seperate branch of law enforcement, but everybody knew that they really answered to the PRT.

"Okay, okay," he said, as he thought furiously. The house was out, of course, and so were most of his friends. If the cops were smart, they'd check the house of every man in the Union, but not all the boys showed up on the paperwork anymore. People who'd found other work, sometimes in other cities, but who still might be willing to put up on old friend for a day or three. He'd need to pick up a few things from the house, so hopefully they wouldn't have staked it out yet… "Here's what we're going to do. I want you to find someplace safe nearby, while I call some friends to come and get you. I'll meet you there as soon as I can, and we can-"

"What? No, Dad! That's not why I called you!"

"...then why did you call me?" he asked as a cold tingle of premonition crawled up his spine.

"Vim said it was a good idea," she finally said, after a painfully long pause, and he distantly wondered who this Vim was. "She said, that just not coming home would be worse for you, that it'd be better if you knew why-"

"Taylor, honey," he said, doing his best to stamp down on the first stirrings of desperation. He had already lost her mother, he couldn't bear to lose her too. "You don't have to do this alone. I want to help. Please, just let me-"

"This isn't like Winslow, Dad," she said, but the desperation in her voice revealed the lie. "You have the union, you have people counting on you, and I just don't want to-"

"Don't want to what, bother me?" He recognized the anger, barely controlled in his voice, and did his best to stamp down on his frustration. Getting angry and lashing out wouldn't help things. "Taylor, I'm you're father. Knowing that you're out there, where I can't reach you, would bother me more than anything else." She didn't answer for a long, long moment, and he felt his restraint snap. "Goddamit Taylor, I just want to help!"

He heard her swallow, hard, before she blurted out, "I'm a cape!"

The words struck him like an almost physical blow. It was too much, it was all too much, and hearing that his daughter had superpowers wasn't doing much to help. "That's...okay, but…" He struggled to find the words. "Does it matter?" he finally asked.

"Yes," she retorted, and he felt himself wonder at the steadily growing confidence in her voice. Winslow had been grinding her spirit down for years, where had this come from? "It means, I can take care of myself. But also…"

He braced himself, as he heard her take a deep breath. "My powers are scary, really really scary. If the protectorate is already trying to kill me, finding out what I can do won't make them any nicer. I don't know if I can keep you safe, dad, not if you're with me."

"Taylor…"

"And I checked online at lots of places, and everyone agrees that the Unwritten Rules can be a pretty big deal. As long as I don't get you involved, the Protectorate has to leave you alone. You'll be safer at home."

He closed his eyes, torn between pride and despair. His little girl, doing the noble thing, but God he wished she didn't have to. "Little Owl," he finally said, and if his late wife's nickname for their daughter felt strange on his lips, it was only a sign of how far he had failed. They should never have drifted apart like this… "I don't know if I could live with myself, if something happened to you."

His daughter's laughter was loud, and hard, and bright. "I wasn't kidding when I said my powers were dangerous," and if he had been surprised by her growing confidence he was shocked by the fierce pride in her words. "I already know we can win. I'm just not sure how much of the city will be left behind."

He had worked, sweated, and worn himself down to the bone for this city, and the people in it, but in the end he didn't care if Taylor had to burn it down block by block, as long as she made it back to him. And so, Danny Hebert merely licked his lips and asked, "What can I do to help."

-

"Shall I count out the sheer number of ways you have screwed up, Shadow Stalker?" asked the PRT puke as he stared at her across the thick metal table. She had barely been given the time to recover, since some assholes had manhandled her down into the interrogation room the second she had stumbled into the building. Everything still hurt, her whole body one huge burn, and her skull gonged like a fucking bell every time she moved her head.

When she didn't answer him, the man simply sighed and flipped open the thick sheaf of papers in front of him. "Let's see...first, it seems you violated your parole most spectacularly when you attempted to murder a classmate-"

"It was just a prank!" Sophia exploded, before she all but collapsed under the following wave of pain. "Just a stupid prank," she groaned as she clutched her head.

"Normally, pranks don't put people in the hospital for a month with septic shock," he countered mildly, apparently unbothered by her outburst. "Nor do they involve imprisoning a child in biohazardous waste for several hours." The look he shot at her was deceptively mild, despite the lightest tinge of disbelief in his words. "What on earth possessed you to fill her locker with tampons, of all things? Dirt and mud, I might have understood, but you must have known that used tampons would have been a serious health risk even before you left them to rot for...what was it, three weeks?"

He briefly rechecked his notes, while she waited in stony silence. "Then, when your victim brings forth ironclad proof of your naughtiness," he continued, his tone never changing, "your immediate response was to assault and attempt to murder her. An attempt which failed, and was also caught on camera."

This time she jerked her head up to stare at him, her eyes wide with shock. "That's right, Miss Hess," he said. "You were not as alone as you thought. Not that I'm sure it would have mattered," he added, as he flipped the page. "I'm not entirely sure what you were expecting. Did you honestly think nobody would notice if Miss Hebert disappeared?"

"People disappear all the time…"

"True, but most of them haven't made some truly heinous accusations against one Sophia Hess, high school student, track star, and Ward," he countered. "Even if she had disappeared, the evidence she had presented would almost certainly have come up in the eventual investigation, and the police would have viewed such convenient circumstances as...suspicious."

"Like anybody would care…" she grumbled mutinously.

"Oh, I doubt anybody would be especially invested," he retorted. "But they wouldn't have to be. You're not that subtle, Miss Hess, and if nobody has noticed before it's because they were never looking. As it stands, I suspect Piggot would have washed her hands of you the second you came up in an investigation, and it would only have been a matter of time…"

"So why am I even here then," she growled. The pounding in her head was starting to recede a bit, but it still felt like she had been sunburned on the inside, and all she wanted was the coldest shower in the world right now. "Just throw me in a cell already and get it over with!"

"Fortunately, that may not be necessary," he said, as he shuffled the papers back into one stack. "As I said, Piggot would happily wash her hands of you if an investigation started. As it stands, though, they have not started an investigation on you… yet. And if you can find the restraint, they might not ever start one, understand?"

"So what, I turn goody-two shoes and you make this all go away?" she said with a sneer she didn't really feel. As much as she loathed the PRT and Protectorate's spineless policies, she knew they could bring her down easy, and she didn't want to go rot in a jail cell somewhere.

"Nothing quite so drastic as what you're thinking, I'm sure," he said with a shrug. "But it's clear that you need a close hand to keep you out of trouble. So while you'll remain with the wards, you'll also answer directly to me, understand? And you'll have to be on your best behavior too. No more solo patrols, no more rule breaking, and certainly no more of this."

His finger jabbed straight into the pile of papers, and Sophia felt her eyes following it involuntarily. This guy was a skinny looking little wimp, but that sudden violent gesture gave her some bad vibes about him, like the coked out winos who were pathetic little shits until they flipped out and killed somebody.

But he was the best chance she had of staying free, at least until she could ditch this dump entirely.

"Even if I said yes," she said, even as she came to a decision. "How would you even fix something like this? Blackwell already-"

"Principle Blackwell can be...handled," he interjected. "She is a clever woman, who knows which way the wind is blowing. If we tell her to keep her mouth shut, then shut it will stay."

"And Hebert?"

"Since Miss Hebert is currently absent, she can hardly have a say in the proceedings, now can she?" he said with the first hint of humor she had heard from him. "And even if she does come back, well...the PRT has its own way of dealing with inconvenient witnesses. Methods which, unlike yours, work."

That last jab stung, but he was holding all the cards, so Sophia bit back her anger and forced herself to shrug. "Well then, I guess you've got yourself a deal."

"Good," said PRT trooper Robert Brown, as he snapped the folder closed. "I look forward to working with you, Sophia Hess. And the first thing you can do for me, is explain everything you can remember about these," he added as he pulled out a photo with a familiar squat figure glaring out of the picture, it's face nearly obscured by the glitter of gold.

-

He picked up the phone as soon as he heard it ring. "How did it go?"

"Went perfect, boss," Pierre said in his usual nigh-incomprehensible accent. "We got the evidence, and dealt with Blackwell. Dumb bitch hadn't even made any copies…"

"I assume you made it look like an accident?"

"Boss, you wound me," the former Frenchman chuckled. "Of course we did. Stupid whore was hiding a nasty drug habit. We didn't even have to touch her, just added a little something special to her fix, and she went and OD'd herself. Standard Merchant crap."

"Excellent. You'll receive your usual bonus when I have the video in hand," he said as he closed the other timeline.

"Pleasure working with you, Boss," Pierre said, before hanging up.

Shadow Stalker had truly proven to be a boon for his work, Thomas decided as he leaned back in his chair with a thoughtful expression. When he had set out to humiliate Piggot, and take over for her as head of the PRT, he had been expecting months of more work to look forward too. But between Shadow Stalker's stupidity and rampant violence, he now had ample evidence that Piggot was letting her troops run wild.

At this point, it didn't matter if Stalker self destructed, or stuck it out to become one of his wards, because he won either way. And with evidence he now had in his possession, Stalker had better learn to toe the line extremely quickly. Unlike Piggot, he would not be putting up with her reckless attitude, not in *his* Wards. Luckily, Brown had plenty of practice dealing with recalcitrant soldiers, from his time as a freelance mercenary; if anyone could get her into shape, it was him.

The more important question at the moment, though, was what to do about Hebert…

Masters were always useful, whether they summoned minions or controlled people, and as it stood the poor girl was alone, afraid, and absolutely convinced that the PRT and Protectorate were out to get her. No doubt she could use a friend to help her out, keep her safe, and all the better if that friend could use her.

Coil split the timeline.

There was nothing quite like being in two places at once. The fact that he was actually occupying seperate timelines, rather that actual locations didn't actually matter much.

One body for up from his chair, and walked out of the office to make his steady way towards the kitchen. The other simply picked up the phone with a sigh. This next part was guaranteed to be both tedious and annoying, which is why the Coil from timeline A was making a beeline for the triple-layer chocolate cake with coconut sprinkles.

Because if he was going to put himself through this, he might as well get something damn well good out of it.

"Hello, Tattletale," he said when he heard her finally pick up the phone. "I have some good news for you."


	2. Angel On My Shoulder 1 (MHA AU)

The worst part, Inko realized, was the smell of blood. If she looked away from the jagged, tearing wounds or the puddle of blood beneath her, then she could almost ignore the tacky, sticky liquid on her hands and pretend that everything was alright. But that stench, likely sickly sweet iron, was inescapable and she felt near tears every time she breathed it in.

"It's going to be okay, it's going to be okay," she babbled to the semi-conscious teenager lying beneath her, pressing her blood soaked jacket against their weeping wounds. The stranger was startlingly gorgeous but painfully young, giving her an air of purity and innocence that had been ruined by the crimson stripes that had been clawed through her chest. "It's going to be okay, I promise," Inko repeated as the girl stirred beneath her. "I've already called the police, they're on their way, you just need to hold on! Please hold on!"

The girl groaned weakly, reaching up to clutch at her arm. "No…" she gasped between soft breaths. "No… Need to go…"

"No, no, no," Inko gasped, gently holding her down as she fidgeted feebly. "I'm sorry, I mean, you can't! You can't, you're hurt! You need to stay right here, okay? We'll just wait for the police, or a hero or someone, and then I'll go handle whatever you need, alright? Does that sound alright?"

There was no answer, and it took Inko a panicked moment to realize that the girl was still breathing. "Izuku!" she shouted, turning as far as she dared towards the mouth of the alley. "Do you see any police cars yet!"

"No mom!" her son shouted back. He had wanted to help, been desperate to help really, but she couldn't bear to leave him looking at this, just in case she… just in case. So she had let him be a lookout instead.

"Keep looking! Let me know as soon as you see someone!" she called, before turning back to the girl. Even through her worry and her panic, Inko couldn't help the thrill of awe that went through her every time she looked at the girl. Not even her many wounds (for the clawmarks, sadly, were merely the worst of them) could hide her incredible beauty, more akin to a masterpiece than a mere human. It was almost as if there was an inner glow to her, like she was more real than the mere asphalt and dirt beneath her, and Inko couldn't help but wonder if it was a quirk that was making her feel this way…

...or if the girl was just that stunning. "H-hey," she said when they stirred again. "It's gonna be okay, the police are on their way, I'm sure they'll be here very soon, alright? You just need to hold on, okay?"

"Y-you," the girl gasped. "Y-you need…"

"Yes?! What do you, I mean can I, I mean need…?"

"Need to leave…"

"No, no, no, no," Inko blurted. "You need to stay, I mean you're hurt! I'll take of it don't worry, you just need to-"

"N-no!" the girl cried, harder and stronger this time, and Inko almost reared back in shock when her hand was suddenly grabbed.. "N-no!" the girl cried again. "You...need… to… leave." Her expression was filled with pain, but her gaze was clear and strong when she locked eyes with Inko. "One's who hurt me. They are… coming. Here, soon."

"That's, that's...okay," Inko stammered as her heart stuttered to flutter in fear. "It's okay, it's okay, it's fine. The police are, they're on their way. They can protect us."

"People… in… police. People everywhere. And now… they know… where I am." The girl started to struggle, forcing herself upright, and this time Inko couldn't find it in herself to stop them. "You need… to leave. Before it's… too…"

"Mom, mom! It's them, it's the police!"

She couldn't help the thrill of fear that shot through her at his words. It was silly, of course, absolutely ridiculous. After all, if you couldn't trust the police, who could you trust? But still… "Izuku, come over here please!" she called as she clambered to her feet.

The girl followed her lead, struggling her way up with grunts of pain, and after a moment's hesitation Inko leaned down to help her up. For the first time, she noticed the barely contained strength in the girl's arms, and the sword that clicked at her side as the scabbard knocked against the ground.

She heard the scuff of Izuku's footsteps, and reached down to take his hand in hers, while the girl slumped against the wall to keep herself upright, one hand wrapped firmly around the hilt of her sword. They watched together in silence as a dark silhouette appeared at the mouth of the alley and trotted towards them.

Inko relaxed slightly when she realized that the man was wearing a policeman's uniform, but something in the back of her thoughts she heard a warning whispered in the darkness. Something was wrong…

"Hello, officer!" she called before he could get any closer. He was a plain looking man, short and lean but with a powerful jawline, and there was something… odd about his teeth. "I'm so glad you're here! This, this woman was, was attacked by someone! She needs a hospital right aw-ay…"

She trailed off as his eyes drifted across her, a long lazy look that didn't belong on a policeman's face, and she finally realized what was wrong. 'Where's his partner?' she thought as she started to pull Izuku behind her, slowly backing away. 'Where's the ambulance? Why didn't I hear a siren!'

Then the cop bared his teeth in a chilling smile, and she felt the blood freeze in her veins. "So this is where you got to, Andariel," he hissed through a literally cheek-splitting grin, his face unzipping itself to reveal needle-sharp teeth that stretched from one ear to the other. "All weak, and alone…" His chuckle was wickedness itself as he reached up and pulled his shades away. "I'm going to enjoy this," he announced as his eyes flashed red and gold.

"You wish," the girl retorted, clumsily reaching around to draw her sword before shoving herself off of the wall. She was upright, but even Izuku could see the wobble in her step, the trembles of weakness in her hands. "I'll kick your ass, and when I find your boss I'll kick his ass too. I'll beat you both so hard that you'll wish you never left the horrid pits that spawned you."

"Hmph. Cocky as always," the cop retorted as he stretched. "Let's change that, shall we?" It was like watching an explosion in slow motion; one moment, he was standing there, an ordinary man with a frightening quirk. Then, almost faster than the eye could see, he was growing, tearing right out of his clothes with a shriek of shredding cloth. Tanned skin erupted into dark fur, a pair of bovine horns thrusting their way out of his skull with a wet pop. His left hand sprouted claws, long and needle sharp, but his right hand sprouted blades, long enough to drag on the floor despite his new, increased height.

The worst part, though, was his face, where his needle grin was joined by a single huge, staring eye, set into the center of his face, so that his face was all eye and teeth. "Look upon I, the great Barazael, and despair!" he roared in a voice like flames and thunder.

"Meh. I've beaten bigger," Andariel said with an ease that Inko knew she didn't really feel, somehow managing to flourish her sword without dropping it. "Now, let me get the gawkers out of the way, so that we can get this over wi-"

"Oh no," he rumbled, his voice full of spiteful glee. "The mortals stay. I want them to see your death. And I want you to die knowing what will happen to them." He looked up, and Inko felt herself start to tremble at the cruelty in his eyes. "So if she tries to run, I will take her sun and devour him in front of her eyes."

"You'll not touch them," she hissed, her blade flaring with an ephemeral light; a perfect match, Inko realized, for the glow beneath Andariel's skin.

"You are too weak to stop me," he growled, before he launched himself at her with his blades outstretched.

Andariel's blade blurred into motion, leaping to intercept the charging beast, but he simply danced around it with startling agility. He darted in at her from the side, and as fast as her sword was the rest of her body could not keep up; she could intercept his charges, but she was simply too weak to follow up her strikes, and it was obvious that the only thing holding him back was his respect for her weapon's glow.

"You can do it!" Izuku shouted, almost dancing with enthusiasm. His eyes were shining with faith, his sheer certainty of Andariel's victory. Inko wished she could share his surety, but she could only see her savior's trembling, the harshness of her breath.

'I have to run,' Inko thought as she watched Barazael claw yet another bloody line down Andariel's back. 'I have to run,' she told herself, but her feet were rooted to the floor. 'I have to get Izuku out of here. I have to get help! I have to do something, anything! I can't just stand here, watching!' she silently cried as her savior leapt to meet another charge and was promptly slapped back.

"Is that it?" Andariel grunted as she fought herself upright, her sword never wavering away from Barazael's face. "I expected better, even from your kind." Bizarrely, she actually looked stronger now, despite her new bruises, but she was listing to one side, and one of her arms didn't seem to be working properly.

"Even now, your tongue moves too freely. Let us see if it stills once I have ripped it out," he growled. He lunged, and Andariel moved to meet him, but this time, this time… This time, the blades on his hand abruptly doubled in length, catching them all by surprise. Two of them caught her in the shoulder, plunging deep and ripping their way out in a spray of blood. The third slipped past her guard, cutting deep into her hand and sending her sword spinning away down the alleyway.

Andariel didn't even hesitate, launching herself into a series of punishing elbows and knees with blinding speed, but Barazael was simply too large, too strong. Blows that would have broken a man simply bounced off of his burly body, and he chuckled in anticipation as he closed in for the kill.

"You can do it!" Izuku again shouted, but this time his faith was...unsteady, his voice filled with uncertainty as he realized that this time the hero might not win…

Which meant that it was up to Inko to do something. "Izuku. Izuku," she said, kneeling down to murmur to him quick and quiet. The police were obviously unreliable, and she couldn't ask her neighbors to step in like this, so it would have to be- "I need you to take my phone," she whispered as calmly as she could force herself to feel, "and I need you to run out of the alley, okay?"

She heard him start to protest, obviously upset, but she shushed him quickly. This was too important. "Do you remember where the nearest hero office is?" she asked, already knowing the answer. Her little Izuku knew where all the heroes where, even the ones nobody else knew about. She waited for his nod before saying, "Good, good. So I need you to run to them, okay, and get help. And if anyone tries to stop you I need you to run and hide and call one of the hero numbers for help, alright?"

Maybe, maybe 'they' were in the police, but they couldn't have done the same for the heroes, it just wasn't possible. And even if they had, surely not all of the heroes… So her best bet was to get Izuku into their hands, and hope he ended up with the right ones. If he could run all the way there, that would be fantastic, and if not… Every street, every park and alleyway was littered with posters for hero teams, a dozen for every street corner. Surely Izuku would be able to find one to keep him safe.

She just needed to buy enough time for him to get away.

"I need you to run, okay," she said as she scanned the alley. "Run now, right now!" She heard a roar of triumph and knew there was no more time. A quick gesture summoned a long sliver of wood, left behind from some ancient project, into her hand as she scrambled to her feet and ran.

Barazael was pinning Azariel to the ground with one massive hand, growling and snorting in glee as he slowly crushed her to death. He didn't even bother boasting, so focused was he on her struggles, such that he was entirely unprepared for the four inches of razor shape wood that slid smoothly into the muscles on his back.

It was a small wound, but it hurt, and more than that it was an insult! So he roared and reared back, stomping on Azarial when she tried to rise before he began to swing himself from side to side. "Pathetic ant!" he shouted as he slapped at the small, struggling shape dangling from his shoulders. "Your death will be slow and painful for thi-argh!"

The first sliver had been an annoyance, but the second had *hurt*, and he couldn't help trying to jerk away. Suddenly, he had no more interest in playing with this stupid mortal, and he hurled himself to the side, slamming his back into the wall. He grinned in satisfaction at her cry of pain, the snap of bone, and when he pulled away her saw her slumped against the wall, cradling her ribs with one hand. The other was laying at her side, her wrist twisted out of place.

"You will pay dearly for this insult," he growled as he rubbed at his side, and the burning piece of metal that was still lodged there. His claws were too big, too clumsy to pull it out, and he rumbled in frustration. "I might have granted your son a merciful death before, but now I shall make him shriek in agony while you-"

He turned to glare at the boy, only to find the empty alley staring him in the face. Far into the distance he heard what was left of his temper go *snap*. "I am going to hunt that kid down," he said in a voice of infinite calm. "I am going to hunt him down, going to find him, and when I do I'm gonna-"

The rest of his threat was abruptly cut off by the tremendous ball of fire that struck him in the side of the head, instantly filling the alley with the stench of scorched hair and frying meat. "Arrgh!" he bellowed, as he clutched at his face, whirling to face Azariel where she stirred dazedly on the ground. "No more games!" he roared as he leaped at her, knocking aside another fireball on the way and landing hard on her chest with both feet . "No more talking!" He reared back, his bladed fingers glinting eviley in the morning light. "Just die-!"

The feeling of the blade entering his lower spine was startlingly painless. It was though his body had been abruptly transfixed by a length of shining ice, a burning numbness spreading from the dire wound as he looked down at the shining metal that had erupted from his chest.

"N-no, no," he gasped, as he tried to raise his arms, which suddenly felt as though they weighed a thousand tons. "But h-how?" he whined as he stared down at a bruised and broken Azariel, who nevertheless looked up at him with a triumphant grin. He could hear the other woman stirring behind him, still slumped against the wall, but that meant-

He turned to look, his powerful body struggling to pull the blade out of his attackers hand, fighting to stay standing… and he felt his heart clench as he looked down at the tiny boy with dark green hair, who stared up at him with wide eyes. "I-impossible," he moaned. "I c-can't die here." He collapsed to his knees, the boy who had murdered him stumbling back in fear. "Not like this. Not like-"

And then he heard the clatter of stone and felt a small hand grab the blade and suddenly the sword burned. The weak, fading light that had coated the weapon was suddenly blazing, and he shrieked in agony as he felt the burning glow filling his body. He couldn't move, couldn't fight, could do nothing at all as his body burned from the inside, his eyes and mouth sprouting streaks of fire as his flesh came apart into black smoke and ash, to be carried away by the rising breeze.

-

"So…" Azariel said, once she was strong enough to breath without pain. "I think, considering the circumstances, that it would be better if we did not call the police for this."

-  
Eight Years Later

It had started out as a perfectly ordinary day. So ordinary that it was in fact boring, and Mina Ashido hadn't been able to stop herself from wishing for something exciting to happen, despite knowing better. Like her mom always said, 'Never make a wish unless you know how it will be granted.'

Well, Mina had certainly gotten her excitement; too bad she probably wouldn't survive it.

"I told you, I don't like spicy food," said the thing on her left as it reached out to prod her with a huge, hooked claw. She had thought they were villains at first, with especially bizarre mutation quirks, but there was something so subtly, so indisputably… wrong about them both. The second, who moaned and whined and groaned constantly looked like a man-sized preying mantis who had stapled a duck's feet onto it's abdomen, and she did mean *staple*. It was absolutely covered in bits and pieces that looked like they had been attached, hammered or smelted or nailed into place by some outside force. If it hadn't talked about eating her, the way her dad talked about the weather, she might have felt sorry for it.

The first one, though, was the one who scared her. She had read Lovecraft on a dare, once, and had regretted it for years, but some parts had stuck with her. The idea of non-euclidean dimensions, angles that just didn't fit, she had wondered for years what that could look like.

Now she knew, and she wished she didn't.

The first thug looked transparent, like the ghost of a man, only whenever she looked at him for too long she began to realize that he wasn't actually see through, parts of him were just far away, and the others were far too close, so that she kept seeing through the spaces between them. The fact that his mouth never moved in time with his words, or that his shadow kept looking at her, was a small thing compared to the sheer wrongness of his presence.

Oh, and he wanted to eat her. That was still a thing.

"Dude, I promise she's not gonna be spicy," Thug One said, one hand wrapped tightly around Mina's upper arm. She had tried to melt his grip off early on, once she realized he was being serious, but somehow his acid kept missing him.

"I'm not stupid, bro," Thug Two retorted, in a voice like nails on a chalkboard. "Everyone knows that peppers burn because they got acid in em, right? So acid is spicey, QED."

"...okay first, never say that again. You know how I feel about misusing latin, dammit! And second, you're thinking about capascain, you dumbass! Acid doesn't make things spicy, it makes em sour, capiche?"

"Oh." The mantis monster slumped in embarrassment, before perking up a second later. "I like sour food."

"I know bro, why I hunted 'er down for you," Thug Two said, reaching out to wrap an arm around his companions chitinous shoulder. "Only the best for my best bud on 'is birthday, right?"

"You're the best, Dude!'

"No bro, you're the best!"

Mina lashed out with a kick, aiming directly for Thug Two's little thug, and found her leg passing through his crotch with a feeling like sticking a finger into an electrical socket on a hot summer day. By the time the burning feeling had faded away, Thug One's spiney limb was wrapped around her other arm, both limbs pulled taught to the point of pain.

"Make a wish, Bro-" Thug Two began, before he was abruptly cut off by a sword to the face. It wasn't a spectacularly large sword, being only somewhat longer than her forearm, but it looked sharp enough to cut air, and it gleamed with an inner glow that clung to the edges.

"Whu-" Thug Two began with an expression of terminal surprise, before the sword flared and the spaces between himself were abruptly filled with burning, breaking light. His body burned like tissue paper, and fell apart to reveal the slender girl who was standing behind him with an enormous smile and her hand on the hilt.

She was extremely pretty, with gleaming golden eyes and a grin that was as sharp as her sword, and Mina felt herself smiling back almost involuntarily as the girl declared, "Well that's one down, one to woah!"

She leapt aside, just in time to avoid a jabbing claw from the mantis beast, it's mandibles rattling in rage as it tossed Mina to the ground. "You killed him," it bellowed, flailing wildly with its razor-barbed claws. "You bitch, you fucking bitch, you killed him. You killed my bro!"

"No need to take it personal, just doing my job," the girl retorted as she danced around him, her body flowing smoothly around his desperate, reckless attacks. "Don't worry, I'll send you to join him shortly."

"Who gives a fuck about your business, you killed my bro!" it blubbered. "Gonna make you regret, you bitch! You bitch! You fucking cunt! You're gonna wish you was never born-!" It spread it's mandibles wide and belched a stream of noxious smoke that filled the other end of the alleyway with a cloud of toxic gas, before it turned to face Mina with rage in it's bulbous eyes.

"You," it gurlged as it stalked towards her, it's claws spread wide. "This is all your fault! I'll kill you!" It lunged for her, and Mina belatedly realized that lying on the ground in the midst of a deadly battle had been a terrible idea, but it was already too late to run-

And then she felt a pair of strong hands grab her by the shoulders and haul her back, just in time to pull her out from under the mantis and the sword that had just sprouted from its chest. "Whoops," said a manically cheerful voice from behind her, while she stared at the gleaming blade that had impaled the concrete between her legs. "That was a close one."

The mantis glared at her in hate and despair as a small shining figure dragged it back into the toxic smoke, and she felt her rescuer haul her to her feet, still babbling away. "You know, I keep telling her to be more careful about civilians, I really do, but does she listen? Nooo. 'Izuku,' she says, 'why should I worry about hurting people. I can just heal em after, can't i?' And I say, 'No, that's not how it works, heroes are supposed to avoid hurting people period', and she goes 'But I'm not a hero, I'm just a-'"

"Oh my gosh, what's going on!" Mina finally blurted out, pulling to free to round on her rescuer. He was actually kind of cute, now that she got a good look at him. Bit short for her tastes, but he had an honest face, and his dark green hair was the nice kind of messy, just like hers. Oh and he was also, like, serious ripped; not gross, like the guys her mom liked to watch on tv, but he looked like worked out, like, super often.

"Who is that, who are you, are you super heroes!" she shouted, practically vibrating with excitement. "Oh my gosh, you're totally heroes aren't you! That's so cool!"

"Uh, no no," he stammered with this adorable little blush. "We're not heroes or anything, we're just, uh… actors? Yeah, actors! This was all, just, uh, a movie?"

It was the stupidest explanation, the stupidest excuse Mina had ever heard; more ridiculous than 'B , more unbelievable than 'Lose thirty pounds in ten days', and even stupider than ' '. It was in fact so stupidly unbelievable that Mina gave him her biggest smile and declared, "Oh sure, that makes perfect sense!"

"...it does? I mean, of course it does!" he blurted out. "Because it's the truth, right?" He shot her another nervous smile and held out a hand. "I'm Izuku."

"Mina Ashido!" she replied, giving him a firm, friendly shake. '...four, five, six,' she counted silently in her head, forcing herself to let go when she reached ten. "It's really nice to meet you!"

"Oh, you t-" The rest of his words were lost in an abrupt crash, and they turned together to see the mantis slumped across a half-crushed dumpster, with its head rolling to a stop at the feet of the swordsgirl as she stopped out of the toxic mists.

"Well, that's my good deed of the day done!" she declared as she gave its head a firm kick, smashing it into a cloud of blackened ash. "Now to- oh, hey Izuku!" she called as she spotted them for the first time. "Who's your lady friend? You didn't tell me you were seeing someone, you sly dog!"

"Oh she's not, I mean I'm not-" he spluttered, before he spotted the laughter dancing in her eyes. "Boss!" he whined, before he belatedly remembered Mina staring at him from the side.

He coughed busily into his fist. "I was just telling Miss Ashido here about the movie we're shooting!"

"What movie?" she asked, swinging her sword around to slide it into her scabbard. "I didn't know we were shooting a movie? Why didn't you tell me you were shooting a movie?! I could have worn something nice, instead of this ratty old thing," she said, tugging at her admittedly unflattering sweater with an expression of disgust.

"I think you look very nice, Miss-?" Mina said.

"Oh, I'm Azariel," she answered, accepting Mina's handshake with a broad smile of her own. "And if you think I look good now, you should see me wearing my clothes, instead of Izuku's old things!"

Mina blinked, and looked the beautiful girl up and down, her eyes lingering on the fuzzy, stripey sweater and the short frilly skirt. "Um-?"

Izuku flushed harder than she had ever seen before. "I had a phase," he admitted in a tiny voice.

"Is that what they're calling it, these days?" Azariel asked.

"Anyway, back on subject!" he blurted out. "I was just telling Mina about the movie we're shooting, so that she doesn't think we're vigilante's or something. Like I've been telling you we should be doing from the start-?"

"Oh, right. Guess we're shooting a movie then," she said with a shrug. "Anyway, I'm gonna go home, take a shower to wash off all of the evil," she added, brushing off some of the blackened dust from her sweater. "See you there?"

"Yeah, sure," Izuku said, eyes tightly shut in frustration.

"Cool. Bye!" Azariel spun on one heel, and trotted back into the cloud of incredibly poisonous gas, whistling merrily all the way.

Mina watched her go, waving goodbye, before turning back towards Izuku. "So, has the movie excuse ever actually worked before?" she asked.

"Well normally, people are too busy recovering from their headaches to ask questions," he replied with an embarrassed expression.

"Oh, well…! Guess I'm just lucky then?" The awkward silence continued, and Mina found herself fidgeting in place as she tried to think of something to say.

"So, uh… guess I'll go then?" he finally said, jerking his finger towards the barely visible street. He waited a moment for her answer, before slumping a bit and turning to trot away-

"Wait!"

-until her urgent cry cut him off. He turned back to see her staring at him, her golden iris's standing out brilliantly against her pitch-black sclera. "I just remembered!" she called, "I never remembered to thank you guys!"

He blinked at her, seemingly uncomprehending, before his face split in the biggest, most earnest grin she had ever seen. "Thanks, but what do you mean?! It was just a movie, after all!"

She sprouted her own smile at that, and found herself laughing as she waved goodbye, watching until he rounded the corner into the sunlight. Soon, even his footsteps had faded away, and she allowed herself to wobble over to the wall and slump against it, her knees suddenly too weak to support her.

"...so," she finally said to the empty air, "I think that's enough excitement for one day."

AN: If you're wondering why Ashido was willing to accept such an obvious lie, it was something between gratitude and 'don't argue with the crazy people with a sword'. Anyway, I think I have more snippets to build from this idea.  
Don't know if I want to build an actual story from it though... we'll see how it goes.  
So, how'd I do? Comments and suggestions are always appreciated!


	3. Evil Spirits & Good Chi (JCADanny P)

Daolon Wong glared at the merry glow of the Chan family's window, following the movements of their shadows behind their curtains with eyes gone cloudy with age. Once upon a time, he would have done more than glare; with his dark chi warriors at his beck and call, with his mastery of every dark chi spell known to man, he would gladly have charged the fortress of his greatest foes! Their petty defenses would have crumbled beneath his magics, as his servants broke the walls down around them!

It would have been a glorious slaughter, a mighty sacrifice to the dark powers he served!

Or so he told himself. Deep in his heart of hearts, he could not help but fear that the battle would end the same way all the others had; with him, defeated, and fleeing in fear from the Chan clan. And now, he was too weak, too vulnerable, too *old* to even make the attempt.

With no magics of his own, the Deja Vu stone had left him trapped firmly in the past, even after escaping his former minions (and hadn't that burned, having to sneak and beg the people who had once been his servants). Time and time again, he had tried to reverse his enfeeblement, but on the rare occasions when he had not been foiled, he had been turned away.

Nobody, it seemed, had any respect for Daolon Wong, former master of darkness. And so, in the end, he had returned to his true time via the only method left to him, waiting. And, in the end, it seemed that it would be the waiting that finally killed him.

He had been an old, old man for a long time, and without his dark enchantments to sustain him, his years had finally caught up with him; having the endure the ravages of time while searching hither and thither had not helped things. Now he could feel the reaper breathing down his back with every step he took, and as he clenched his fists in rage he felt their feeble shaking. His green eye had gone cloudy with age, burying the world in a milky haze, and the white eye that gleamed beneath his jagged scar had long succumbed to true blindness. Even his hair was going, and he had not realized how attached he was to his ivory mane until the first strands were falling out…

And he new exactly who to blame.

The Chans were responsible for misery, every single bit of it, and as he glared at their merrily glowing window he swore his inevitable vengeance in every tongue he knew, even the ones that scorched his tongue and tore his throat. "Soon," he whispered with his ravaged voice, even as he turned away.

He was, after all, far too weak to harm even the weakest of the Chans. But if he could not have his vengeance in this life-

-he would simply have to find it in the next.

—

"I'm sure you're wondering how this is supposed to work," Daolon Wong said as he placed the last stick of incense into its holder, and wafted the smoke up to his nose. "After all, with my current disenchantment, I possess no more magic than any other man. Fortunately," he continued as he circled the room, his good eye scanning the flickering candles that lined the room one last time, "there are rituals old enough to have power all their own, and I know all of them. Now, shall we begin?"

The burly, brutish man beneath him struggled against his bonds, moaning through his gag with his eyes rolling wildly in fear. It had pained Daolon Wong to prey upon his fellow servants of darkness, but he could not risk interference; attempting to sacrifice an innocent would no doubt have brought their attention, but a missing criminal would pass unnoticed.

Besides, the man had possessed the temerity to *assault* Daolon Wong, a mistake he would not have the chance to repeat.

One way, or another.

The former dark chi sorcerer took a deep breath to quell the trickle of fear in his breast. There was no point in being nervous, not here and certainly not now. His preparations were all complete, the ritual outlined with flawless accuracy; it had taken him weeks to craft the sprawling chalk design that filled the warehouse from wall to wall, all centered around the massive and ancient altar that he had stolen from an ungrateful student. Finding the ingredients had taken even longer, and the results of his efforts burned merrily at the [six points of samsara], or bubbled darkly in the cauldron at the foot of the altar.

It was all ready, every piece, every step, was all complete… except the last one. If he had made a single mistake, even the tiniest error, then he would be doomed, dead before he even realized the ritual had gone wrong. And even if he got it all right, he would still…

"Bah!" he spat as he forced his thoughts to turn away. He was already dying, after all. Probably less than a decade left, if that. Better to spend it here and now, in exchange for even the slimmest chance, rather than waiting and withering while his enemy walked free.

Better to take the leap, and trust that even now, he was still the master of his craft.

"Do not worry," he croaked as he circled his victim, smiling at the man's muffled screams. "I am told that the next part is entirely painless." A silver chalice gleamed quietly atop the altar, and Daolon Wong scooped it up with one withered hand on his way past, before bending down with a groan to reach under the altar. When he rose up again, he had a dull and blackened dagger clenched in his shaking fist. It was an evil looking blade, blacked by smoke and flame from tip to hilt, it's handle carved into an intricate design that might, at the right angle, have looked like a field of screaming faces.

The man's struggles increased immensely when he saw the blade, his muffled shouts near continuous as he eyed the slowly approaching weapon. He only stilled when Daolon Wong had lightly placed the dagger against his throat, his entire body gone stiff with fear. He was only slightly relieved when the dark wizard pulled it away again, lightly laying the dagger on his chest before walking over to the cauldron.

"Ah, ah, ah!" Dolor admonished when the man began to thrash again, threatening to send the dagger clattering away. "I would not, if I were you. Should the 'Athame of Pompei' fall from your flesh, you will not appreciate the consequences." The man froze again, and Daolon Wong chucked darkly as he dipped the silver chalice into the bubbling cauldron.

"Very good," he said as he carried the chalice over, both hands wrapped tightly around the stem as his trembling fingers threatened to send the contents spilling away. He barely dared to breath as he came to a halt beside the altar. "Do not move," he commanded as he raised the chalice high. "Stay still until I am finished, and you may very well survive."

Then he pulled the chalice to his mouth, and began to drink.

The dark, bubbling liquid was the foulest thing he had ever tasted, and he felt it burning his flesh as he gulped it down, painting a line of fire all the way down to his stomach. He wanted to shout, to vomit, but he dared do nothing except keep drinking. He needed to finish it all, every single drop, if he wanted this to work. No matter what, he had to-

He had to-

He-

He shuddered violently, the silver cup falling from his nerveless fingers. He clutched at his throat, gasping wetly as he clawed desperately for air, collapsing to his knees when his final breath failed to come.

The world, the world was… it was going dark, it was all going dark, and Daolon Wong felt a thrill of fear as he realized what was happening.

He was dying.

Centuries of cruelty, malice, and dark magic was finally reaching its end, and as he fell to his side he could not help his despair. He still had so much to do, so much to accomplish! The conquest of the world for the sake of darkness, the discovery of all the worlds secrets, his vengeance against the Chans! He couldn't die! Not here, not now!

He couldn't-!

He could-

The world went dark as he felt his heart at last begin to stop, and then Daolon Wong died as he had lived: alone, and in darkness.

—-

Joseph Jones waited with clenched teeth, barely daring to breath as he strained his ears. He had heard the old man gasp, seen his shadow fall, but at the same time he barely believed that the crazy old kook was dead.

That old man was freaking scary, you know? He'd pounced on him in the middle of the night, figuring that a crazy geezer in a bathrobe wouldn't be much fight, you know? Boy had he been proven wrong, though; man might've been old, but he kept a heckuva lot of knives around, and he knew lotsa tricks too. By the time Joseph had stopped lookin' for the distractions, he'd already had a knife at his throat.

But now it looked the crazy old fart had bit the big one, cause he weren't even twitching now, which meant that it was time to go home and rethink his life. All he had to do was break one of these stupid little ropes and wriggle free…

So focused was Joseph Jones on his struggling, that he barely noticed the sensation of the knife sliding down across his big barely chest, sent tumbling away by his heaves… until a set of slender, bony fingers wrapped themselves around the handle.

"Naughty, naughty," whispered a familiar voice, in a tone as cold as ice. "I told you not to let the knife fall."

Joseph choked in shock, his eyes rolling wildly as he froze in place. Nothing in the corners, nothing at the walls, nothing and nobody standing nearby-! In the entire warehouse, there was only him, the table-

And the dagger floating above his chest.

He stopped breathing, his wide, wide eyes staring in fear and shock at the evil-looking blade as it floated above his chest, swaying gently in an unseen grip. "Wh-what's happening?" he gasped as he strained away as far as the ropes would let him, his eyes fixed firmly on the dagger. "Wh-who's there?!"

"Ahhh… that's right. I suppose that I have yet to introduce myself," said the old man's voice. It was different, now, familiar but subtly changed by a distant echo that followed his words, as though he spoke from within a deep well.

"Once more," the old man said, and Joseph felt his heart stop when he saw the faint outline of fingers begin to appear around the dagger's hilt. "And now for all time." They image grew quickly, expanding up into a hand, before streaking up a skinny, nobbly arm that was quickly cloaked in a misty-looking sleeve. "I am Daolon Wong!" The sleeve grew into a robe like rain clouds at midnight, rising into a high collar that framed a familiar face, painted into the pale blue visage of a corpse. "Master of Darkness!" The old man's eyes glittered with malice, one pale as bone, while the other gleamed like emerald and jade, and his cruel grin was made of blades and spears.

"And not even death will stay my vengeance."

The dagger fell, and Joseph Jones knew no more.

—

And far, far, away in a massive clock that looked like a tower, an elderly spirit with a long white beard and a scar across one eye watched the sacrifice in utter stillness, both hands wrapped around a long staff. In time the scene came to an end, and the only thing left was two slowly cooling corpses in an empty warehouse, and he waved closed the window into future's gone past as he turned away. His sigh was lost to the ticking of hundreds, thousands of clocks, as he drifted up to a lonely shelf high above the ground. The device which stood there bore some resemblance to a thermos, done up in metal and circuitry, and on one side a glowing display blinked two words over and over.

Power low.

Power low.

Power low.

Clockwork took a deep breath as he reached up to pull the thermos from it's perch, and drifted over to an empty window. "Everything," he said as he drifted outside, and into the emptiness that surrounded his tower, "is at it should be."

And then he closed his eyes, and tossed the thermos away.

"Jackie, I'm bored!"

"i'm sorry to hear that Jade, but I'm busy right now. Maybe you could do your homework?"

"Jackie, it's summer vacation! I don't have any homework!"

"A summer project, then? I know you have a few of those."

"Not anymore, I don't. I finished those ages ago!"

He pulled his reading glasses off to stare at his niece, who was slumped over the back of the sofa behind his chair. "You finished your work…early?"

She pulled her face up from the cushion it was planted in to shoot him a scornful look. "Well, duh! I didn't want you to brush me off with 'Go do your homework, Jade' again." Her imitation of his voice was eerily perfect, thanks to several lessons from Wing 'Bettlebrows' Lesku, who had visited the shop a few months back; his niece had taken every opportunity since then to startle, mock, or tease him with her newest talent. She let her face flop back onto the couch with a groan. "I didn't know it'd be snores-ville central all summer, though! Lame!"

"Well, what did you expect Jade," he retorted with a chuckle, turning back to his appraisal books. "With the demons sealed, and the talismans gone, the only evil around is Daolong Wong, and he's still stuck in jail."

"As far as we know," Jade said, raising a hand in protest, though her voice was still muffled by the pillow. "And what about all the other weirdo's we run into? Maybe they're up to something? Oh! We should totally go check up on them!" she continued, shoving herself up so fast that he heard her tumble onto her back.

"We?" He shot her a look as she scrambled back to her feet, hastily readjusting her favorite hoody. "Captain Black has those criminals well in hand already. He might not know how to handle magic, but they weren't demons or sorcerers, just bad people who found things that they shouldn't. They won't be a problem."

"Jackie!" she whined. "At this rate, we'll never get the J-team back together again!"

"Then maybe it's time for the J-team to…retire," he said with a sigh. It was odd, really; he had never, ever, stopped telling people that his real job was being an archeologist, but the chance that his adventures could be over, forever, was oddly…disquieting. 'It just went to show' he mused to himself as he shut his book, 'what a man could get used to.' "After all, if all the evil is sealed away-"

"Do not be foolish!" Uncle shouted, leaning in from behind the doorway with a sharp glare behind his spectacles. "There is always evil in the world, Jackie! Yin and yang, always struggling for balance! With so much dark chi sealed away, who knows what might erupt to disturb this fragile peace!" He straightened out of sight, before leaning back and saying, "One more thing, Captain Black left a message! Section Thirteen's new base will be ready in a few days, and he already has an apartment ready!"

"That is good news!" Jackie said. "But I'm sure we won't need to actually stay…" he trailed off at Uncle's look, then sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. "I'll start packing," he said instead.

"One more thing! Jade, some mail came for you! A silly little paper book of some kind."

"What?" The elderly Chi-wizard waved the package in his wrinkled hand, and she straightened in delight. "My magazine! Thanks Uncle!" she said, bounding over to snatch it from his grasp.

"You have a magazine?" Jackie said, walking over to peer over her shoulder. He wrinkled his nose when he saw the cover, which featured a translucent figure covered in bloody wounds, half-emerged from a brick wall.

"Ordered it on online. After all the weird stuff we've seen, I thought I'd brush up on my magic trivia, so I looked up the best paranormal magazine in the country. This ones about ghosts," she said, tapping the cover right on top of grey-scale skull-face. "Wanna borrow it? Way I figure it, it's only a matter of time before we run into one."

"Aiyeah!" Uncle cried. "This flimsy book wouldn't know the difference between a spook and a specter! 'Ectoplasm Explained' my foot," he continued, reading the words off the cover with a sneer. "if you want to learn about ghosts, you just come with Uncle and he'll tell you aaaaall about it." He stomped out of the room, dragging his niece in his wake despite her vocal protests.

Jackie watched them go with a faint frown, before he dismissed his concerns with a shake of his head; a flash of color from the corner of his eye made him look down, and he caught sight of Jade's magazine, which lay where she had dropped it. He scooped it up in his hand, letting his eyes run over captions like 'The Secrets of Ectoplasm', and 'Nine Ways to tell You're Being Haunted'. He snorted. "This is crazy, Jackie, you're crazy…" But when he left the room to go chase after Uncle and Jade, he took the magazine with him to read later…just in case.

—

The blast caught the beast in its armored belly, sending it shrieking into a nearby island. The empty stone shattered beneath the creatures weight, and it was sent tumbling away in a shower of splintered rock.

Daolon Wong shot a sneer at the beast, before cocking his head at the sound of wings. "Begon, pest!" he spat as he spun to face it, his shadow staff spraying a fan of bolts to fill the air with fire. The massive, black furred bat spun away, but it was too large to dodge them all, and Daolon Wong grimaced at the smell of scorched fur. He put his enemy out of his misery with another, larger blast across its ridged back; the subsequent explosion left only a hollow, scorched wreck in its wake, and he nodded in satisfaction as the remnants quickly sank out of sight.

It was a short lived feeling, though, once which faded as he turned his bi-coloured eyes on the empty, drifting mists that surrounded him, stretching off as far as the eye could see.

Finding his way to this bizarre realm had been no problem at all for the Master of Darkness, but navigating it was proving far more challenging. There was no true directions here, no north or south, or even up and down; no horizon to hunt for, no sun or stars to follow. Only the endless, empty green, dotted with floating specks of rock that drifted pointlessly through the aether.

The inhabitants were not much more use; he had found more than a few, but most simply fled his presence as soon as they saw him, moving at speeds he had yet to match. The few who stayed had proven to be mere beasts of one sort or another, annoying pests who persisted in getting in his way at every opportunity.

If he did not find something useful, and soon, he might as well go back to the earthly realm. Surely, his search there could not possibly prove as frustrating as this blasted, blighted Ghost Zone!

Then he heard the clang of metal on stone, and turned to see a curious shape spiraling away in the distance, where it had bounced off of a floating stone.

—

Daolon Wong studied the ridiculous looking thermos, floating around the rock where he had placed it. It was a blatantly bizarre creation, but of a sort he would normally never had bothered with; what use was strange technology to he, the master of all things arcane?

Why then, had he not already tossed this strange device to the unearthly currents that filled this place, and gone to find a more fulfilling mystery?

The scream came without warning, a feral sound of rage and hatred as the thermos began to dance in place, crashing against every rock and stone within reach as something inside struggled for freedom. He could hear the creaking of metal under strain, the scream of shattering circuits, the crunch of the high tech prison as it bowed outward under furious blows.

And all the while, that same endless roar filled the air and rocked the stone, strong enough to ruffle his robes from ten feet away. It was the sound of fury held back, hatred imprisoned, cruelty and malice and unsatisfied hunger.

It was the wrathful cry of the blackest of hearts, and it was exactly what he needed.

He waited until the curious prison was silent and still again, as the prisoner ceased its struggles, before he leaned in as closely as he dared. "Can you hear me, spirit?!" he called.

The thermos twitched, almost toppling over from it's precarious perch, and the dark chi master swore he could feel eyes glaring at him through the steel walls. Their voice was faint and weak, as though they were shouting from far away, but it was easy to hear the quiet menace in their words. "What exactly would you have done if I had said no?"

Daolon Wong bit back a sneer at the subtle mockery. "I am Daolon Wong, Master of Darkness, and the most powerful Dark Chi wizard the world has ever seen!"

"That's certainly a lot of very impressive titles," the spirit drawled, its prison wobbling slowly on its edge. "I might almost be worried, if they didn't all belong to a weak old man with a stick."

"Bah!" Daolon Wong spat. "I had thought we could come to an agreement, but if you will not take this seriously there is no point! Mayhaps some other, more desperate fool will free you from your prison, but I will waste no more time on you!" He brandished his staff, an energy blast already gleaming on the tip-

"Wait!"

-only to pull it back at the spirits cry. "Do I have your attention, then?" he asked, with a confident leer.

After a long moment, the spirit growled, "I'm listening."

"Good." The dark chi wizard took a moment to gather his thoughts. "As you may have guessed, I am only recently dead. This realm is… strange to me, and I cannot access my true powers yet. Thus, my offer to you; I shall free you from your prison, and in return you shall guide and teach me until I have regained my full strength."

"Let me get this straight," they said, the thermos wobbling with skepticism. "You want to hire *me* as a bodyguard? I serve nobody, old man!"

"Calm yourself, spirit," he spat, his eyes flashing. "I have no intention of trying to control you. Merely permit me to accompany you, and learn from you, and I shall consider your debt paid in full."

"And what if I don't feel like letting you follow me around like some sort of leech?"

Daolon Wong pursed his lips, drawing blood when his new, jagged fangs nicked his skin. "If you will not accept a follower, perhaps a guide?" he finally asked. "I have knowledge of many artifacts that can be found in the material world, relics would could benefit even your mighty power, great spirit. I could lead you to them, in exchange for a small favor."

"A small favor? Hah! You must think I am desperate, or a fool. If you know of such mighty artifacts, why on earth would you need me? Just find them yourself, take the power for your own!"

Daolon Wong cocked his head, worrying his lips furiously in thought. Finally, he bit out, "I cannot. There is a family, in the earthly realm, which has opposed me at every turn. The talismans, the chosen one, the Deja Vu stone… every time I have grasped for power, they have stood in my way. I am weaker than I have ever been, now, and if history has taught me one thing it is that where I go, the Chans will follow."

"So what, you expect me to fight your battles for you?" the spirt mocked.

"Precisely, for that is the bargain I offer you," Daolon Wong replied. "I shall show you each, and every artifact and relic I can remember, until your power is beyond peer. And in return, I ask that when the Chan's come to oppose you, you deal with them most harmfully!"

"And if they don't come?"

"Oh, they will. Those meddling fools could never leave well enough alone."

The spirt fell silent for a long, long moment, so that the only sound was the gentle touch of an unseen breeze as it drifted past. Then the spirit began to laugh, long and low and hungrily, so that it's prison rocked back and forth on its base. "More power to be won, freedom to be found, and all I need to do is kill some meddling fools? Old man, you have yourself a deal."

"Then what should I call you, most malevolent of specters?" Daolon Wong asked as he brandished his staff, the beginnings of a blast already gathering at the jeweled tip.

"Call me Phantom.

AN: I've always really liked both of these fandoms; not just because of the shows, but because of the sheer creativity a lot of the fanfiction shows (even if there's not nearly enough JCA fanfics out there). And when I thought about it some more, I realized it would be really easy to overlap the settings in a wonderful way.  
Unfortunately, putting the idea into practice has proved harder, and any attempt to introduce the Chans and the Fentons has run straight into a writer's block. It's such a shame too, considering how easily the villains managed to fit together...


	4. In Her Sister's Eyes (Naruto AU)

AN: Yeah, this sort of came out of nowhere; usually, i ruminate on a prompt like this for a few weeks before it goes anywhere, but I was putting this down less than a day after it occurred to me. Would definitely like to see it continued, but I don't really know where i'd go from here.

* * *

They said it was a training accident, a 'freak tragedy' that had sprayed flames across Hanabi's face. Couldn't be helped, they had said with a shake of their heads, as though that made things better.

Her sister was blind.

The fire hadn't been especially hot, but it had caught Hanabi right in the face, straight in the eyes. The flames had left wounds that not even the best healer in the world could repair.

Her sister was blind.

It was almost obscene to think about, the worst injury any Hyuuga could receive. Better to lose a leg than an eye; better to lose your hearing, your voice, your hands rather than your sight. A Hyuuga's sight was their life; even a cripple could become a sentry, a scout, with the mighty Byakugan to aid them.

But a blind Hyuuga...was useless, worse than useless. A drain on the clan and the village, taking much and returning nothing.

Her sister was blind, and her father was furious. It could be hard to tell, sometimes, but Hizashi really was an excellent leader for the Hyuuga clan. Always stiff with that infamous Hyuuga pride, but honest and honorable and never willing to let a debt go unsettled.

He was talking furiously at the doctors, at the clan elders, at anyone who would listen, and as much as he tried to maintain the traditional Hyuuga detachment, cracks could be seen. She had never seen her father this angry before, and every man who dared to talk to him did so with caution and care.

Her sister was blind. Hanabi's future was over, and with it went the future of the clan. She wasn't stupid; nervous and scared, yes, but she knew how the rest of the clan felt about her. She knew that everyone liked to sneer at her when her back was turned, that her father could barely stand to look at her, that even Hanabi was embarrassed to be seen with her. Hinata understood that she was weak, a laughingstock; she was certainly not fit to rule the clan, and they would all rebel if she tried.

Her sister, though, was different. Hanabi was so brave, so talented and clever, a real prodigy in every way. The clan admired her, both the main house and the branch house, and would have eagerly accepted her as clan head...at least, before. But they would never accept a blind leader.

Her sister was blind, and there was nothing that Hinata could do to fix this. No healer could repair the byakugan, and no replacement could possibly be found. To steal the eyes of another Hyuuga, even from the dead, would be a blasphemy. Not even the clan head could demand such a thing, not even for a daughter.

Maybe, if someone volunteered, something could be done, but that would never happen. No Hyuuga would ever agree to give up their eyes, their sight, the mighty power that was the heritage of her clan. No true Hyuuga would even contemplate such a thing…

No one…

...she wasn't stupid. She was soft and frail, hesitant and scared, no better than the gutter trash who filled Konoha's alleys. She knew so, with every scornful look her father shot her, with every sour look that Hanabi favored her with. Nobody in the clan liked her, let alone loved her, and that didn't matter in the slightest because Hanabi was her sister, and Hinata loved her very much.

So, in the end it looked like she was going to be no true Hyuuga after all.

"I'll do it," Hinata declared, her voice miraculously free of stuttering.

Hizashi merely shot her an irritated look. "If you cannot contribute something useful," he snapped, "then please leave, now. We are too busy for-"

A loud complaint drew him back into the continuing argument before she can try again. She had to raise her voice, but her stupid, stupid stutter crept in so that it was all she could do to shout, "I'll, uh, i'll give her m-my eyes!"

This time the room stopped dead, and half it's occupants turned to stare at her with incredulous eyes. The other half were staring at her too, only their attention came in the form of the bulging veins of an activated Byakugan.

Even her father stared at her, his pale white eyes wide with disbelief.

After a long, long moment, one of the less dismissive courtiers stepped forward, with a condescending smile. "It is very noble of you to offer like that, Hinata-sama, but this is not the time for grand declarations. We will find a solution, don't you worry, so why don't you go and keep your sister company-"

"I-I mean it." Her voice was small, her words were clumsy, and it felt like every stare was another thousand pounds laid atop her head, so that it was a struggle to stand straight beneath their attention.

Behind that all, though, was certainty, the sheer blinding knowledge that _this was the right thing to do._ She licked her lips. "I-I am too weak to lead the Hyuuga," she admitted. "I know I'll never be strong enough, good enough, but Hanabi…she is more worthy of these eyes than I will ever be."

Hizashi stepped forward, his eyes blazing and his mouth open to shout, but for the first time in her life Hinata managed to cut her father off. "I am sorry, Otou-san," she stammered with a hasty bow. "I know that only the most sh-shameful of Hyuuga would e-ever say such a thing, and I do not mean to dishonor you, but…" She licked her lips. "I w-was never going to b-be good enough for you, Otou-san. Better to have at least one useful d-daughter, instead of two w-worthless ones."

Her father was staring at her like he had never seen her before, his fury backlit by a less familiar emotion, and for a moment she was afraid that he really would begin to shout! Her father never shouted. How shameful was she, that she had driven him to such straights?

Then the whispers started. They were too quiet to be polite, too quiet for Hinata to hear, but her father turned back with his thunderous expression and was quickly engulfed by the chattering crowd. She caught the occasional distant word, phrases like '-not the worst plan' or 'a noble sacrifice'. One especially brave (or foolish) courtier even dared to congratulate her father on 'raising an excellent spare'.

Then the elders took charge, and the idle mob of speculation was quickly focused into something more useful. The talk continued for a good long, while she stood off to one side in nervous anticipation.

Then her father emerged from the scrum with an expression returned to its normal implacability, his arms folded across his chest. "Enough," he barked. Instantly, the crowd fell silent, and she felt awe again at the sheer power of his commands. A dozen highly-placed members of the main branch family, a half-dozen elders of both branches, and not one of them dared disobey Hizashi.

"Leave us," he commanded, and the room bowed as one to him, before they began to file out of the room in silence. She nearly followed them, her head down in disappointment, before her father stopped her. "Not you."

"Y-yes, Otou-San," she murmured, waiting in silence until the rest of the room had emptied itself. Normally, she could at least guess at her father's feelings, but this time his face was too still, his eyes too hard. She could not tell if he glared at her from anger or disgust, and she could feel herself start to tremble at the thought. Her father had never hit her before, but she had never disappointed him so badly either.

"Do you understand what your sacrifice would mean," he said, his voice as blank as his face.

"I-it'd mean you'd have a daughter to be proud of ag-"

"Your career would be over," he cut in. "Your goals, your dreams, everything you hope to accomplish, it would all be over. Everything, my daughter, even the things you think I don't know about."

Hinata felt her heart rise like a balloon as she realized the truth; what her father was hiding was not anger, it was worry! How amazing! How gratifying to realize that she was still valuable enough to be worth worrying over.

But that was neither here nor there.

"I w-will be okay, Otou-san," she stammered, inclining her head to thank him for his concern. "Th-there are many blind ninja in Konoha."

It was only a mild exaggeration. There were many ninja who had been blinded mid-mission, but had still accomplished their task; there were more semi-retired veterans who ran simple missions that didn't require a working pair of eyes.

There were even a few shinobi who had mastered the use of their other senses so well that they truly had no need for sight anymore.

There were not, to her knowledge, any shinobi who had managed to make a career for themselves without eyes, without sight.

Perhaps she would be the first. Perhaps not. It didn't really matter either way; certainly, nobody besides her would care. And Hanabi would be alright, so that was the important thing.

Hizashi stared at her, almost seeing through her, even though his Byakugan remained inactive. He reached out to her, and for a moment she could not tell if he intended to give her a blow, or a pat to the head.

Then he sank down to one knee, and his outstretched arm was suddenly pulling her into an embrace, and for the first time in years Hinata was safe and warm and _home_. For the first time, in longer than she remembered, she felt her father's arms around her and knew that she was safe from harm, safe from the world.

"You do not have to do this," he murmured into her hair, his voice almost too soft to hear. "We shall find another way."

"I want to do this," she whispered back, leaning into his touch. She did not whisper the words that were in her heart.

_I want to do something, to make you proud of me._

* * *

Hizashi was the most powerful man in the clan, one of the most powerful men in the village, but here and now his hands were more tied than anyone's.

'The clan must come first.'

It was their oldest law, older than the village, older than the gentle fist style, older even than the Hyuuga name.

'The clan must come first.'

Long ago, when their gifts had only made them targets, when every nobleman and clan head wanted a 'pretty white-eyed child', banding together had been the only thing to save them. They had forged a community under impossible pressures, welded together by the promise that they would always put the whole above the self.

And nobody was more bound by that promise than the clan head.

'The clan must come first.'

The clan needed strong leadership, a firm hand, a wise and ruthless teacher...the clan needed many things, and one of them was a worthy heir. He had tried to turn Hinata into someone worthy of the clan, of leadership. She had fallen short, and he wondered if the fault was hers...or his.

It was not a welcome thought.

Hanabi, though, had met and exceeded every test, every trial; she was strong and fast, clever and insightful, patient but ruthless. She did not hesitate, did not stutter or falter…

The choice was obvious, and not even the accident had changed that. The elders, the clan, they all agreed; Hanabi was the proper heir. Any steps to ensure her well being and growth were to be taken, at all costs.

No matter how much he wanted to refuse…

The problem was that Hinata had volunteered. Nobody, not even the elders, could have asked her to give up her eyes; it would be an obscenity, a crime against everything the clan had been made for.

But she had offered, and he _could not_ refuse. If he tried, he would be deposed, his daughters removed from his care, and it would all happen anyway.

Worse yet, he would not be in position to protect them afterwards, to keep the clan from using them up, and throwing them away.

It was an inescapable trap, and he cursed the gods for leading him to this as he watched the surgeons begin their work.

He would have preferred the Konoha hospital, which boasted equipment his clan could never match, but the elders had been firm. This was to be a private affair; with luck, no more than a handful would ever know what had happened here. And, in fairness, what the clan doctors lacked in equipment, they more than made up for in expertise; not even the Uchiha had been able to match the Hyuga's mastery of the eyes.

He refused to look away from his daughters where they lay atop the operating tables, even when he heard the whisper of cloth and wood, and the sound of measured footsteps. "Report."

"Hileil Carrowitz is dead. He was found hanging in his cell after admitting to practicing unsafe fire jutsu in the clan's training grounds. The investigators have proclaimed it a suicide."

Unsurprising. Anyone who could fund a scheme to attack the clan, could also ensure that any loose ends were cut.

It would not be enough to save them.

"Find out who he was working for."

"At once, Hyuuga-san."

* * *

AN: Really nervous about how I portrayed Hinata in this scene; Hizashi was easy, by comparison, but it's hard to tell if I hit the fine line between 'horrible self-confidence and self worth' and 'moaning worm filled with self-pity'. Am also not sure if this qualifies as wangst.

I will say (off the record) that Hinata is sorta making a lot of false assumptions here. Her father is absolutely gaga over her (which I hope I portrayed faithfully), he just has absolutely. No. Idea. How. To show it. In this particular head cannon, his whole attitude of 'you are not worthy' is basically his attempt to inspire her to work harder and improve herself.  
Because, you know, children always do their best work when they're sad, lonely, and they think their parents will never approve of them.  
The Hyuuga got issues, man.


End file.
